Soft
by prentiss-be-mine
Summary: Just some fluffy inside on why Emma loves to slowly make love to her wife. Swan queen :)


**I know I should be updating my other two swan queen fics, but this just came at me at three in the morning lol. I'm usually not a fan of this POV but I thought I'd give it a shot :) Something short, little fluff. :D  
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**Disclaimer: I don't own the Once characters. **

It's nights like this that you secretly like the most. Yes there are nights for harsh, nearly violent fucking, but the slow lesisure of lovemaking is the best.

The nights to hear low tentative sighs and broken gasps of your name.

The nights to feel lovely hands caress your back and arms and shoulders.

And what makes it better, what makes your heart flutter just at the thought, is that you are no longer in the honeymoon stage to achieve this warmth and passion. Eight years, numerous fights over something big or nothing at all, later and yet here you are all curled into each other's bodies; clutching and clawing with rapt attention. You are still blessed to see that loose smile of pleasure and adoration. Brown eyes that glint with desire and mirth.

You are still able to be in total awe because of Regina Mills. Regina _Swan_-Mills, you correct with an inward grin.

"Emma," she'd groan impatiently, but you both know how this will go tonight. You both know you will slowly explore the wetness of Regina's lips, not fully delivering until she was left panting with a sheen of swear coating that olive body.

"Not yet," You reply, always the routine, a reminder, a _promise_, of what's to come. Of what's to have Regina aching. What to have her groaning and arching her body in a delicious curve.

What to make her _beg_.

"Do hurry, dear," Regina commands in your ear, but the attempt at authority is moot when her breath is heavy and she's clinging to your back as if her life depended on it.

You use to make the mistake of voicing her vulnerability, always in jest, but a few days of the silent treatment and lonely nights in the guestroom remind you to appreciate her act of intimacy in silence. You were never good with words anyway.

She's beginning to tremble and her sighs are often of frustration than in actual pleasure, making you think that you should get on with this. Give her what she is notso subtly asking for.

But damn you love this; the vagueness of your touches that aren't completely innocent, but far from the delivery Regina needs to get off. You love spending moments just holding her, caressing a toned torso, full breasts, skimming past jutting nipples, sometimes kissing a salty collarbone.

You love nuzzling her neck, taking in her smell- the expensive perfume she wears just for you; the sweat that lingers with the subtle apple scent.

You love her, and you love showering her with the attention she deserves. The attention she always insist that isn't necessary. And even though she says that she could take a little bite, groaning it out in that oh so sexy husky voice, you ignore her and continue in your unhurried pace.

Because you know what she's saying isn't what she wants, at least not all the time. Because years ago you use to use the same tactic to ward off true intimacy. Because you thought you didn't deserve it.

And maybe you don't. Maybe this kharma is undeserved and justice should be served for your darker days, but you can't seem to care when you have brown eyes, wide and expressive, shining and glistening with love as if it's your wedding night. You can't seem to care when you have a loving son sleeping soundly three doors down, and a daughter- your sweet little two year old- in the next.

But you know all good things come to an end, and you should probably get on with it before your inscrutable wife gives you an earful. That almost sounds fun, but you have your own needs fogging your mind and throbbing your core, and you don't know how long you will last with Regina's naked skin on your's.

So when you slip two fingers inside of warm, wet heat, it's the shaky moan you crave to hear. The sigh of relief mixed with building pleasure that you could never grow tired of. The sight of your wife scrunching her face in that adorable yet delicious manner at the intrusion of your fingers, then relax as she welcomes the warmth. The pleasure. The love.

You begin to move with her, in her, and it's like your first time all over again. Not the awkward, sometimes fearful insecurity of inexperience, but the surreal kind you use to scoff at in romance movies where they perfect their lover's bodies the first time. The kind where instinct is everything yet everything flows smoothly like a coordinated dance.

And when she comes, a low guttural moan slipping from parted lips, you remember why you put up with her sometimes tyrannical approach at things. Why you stick around with someone who spends two hundred dollars on imported towels, or gets into a hissy fit when you put garbage in the wrong bin. It's because the woman quaking beneath you is your life, your heart, and you can't seem to find anywhere that seems more like home, like _breathing_.

Because you hold that same affection and love in her heart, that same intangible spirit of contiguity. Because you know you're just as special to her as she to you, and that knowledge of unfiltered love, of inudating joy, keeps you here. What keeps you pumping your fingers with nearly clinical provision, making sure she could feel everything you sometimes can't say in pretty words.

She clings after bathing in her post-coital bliss and again, you don't comment on how her nails can cut your shoulders and could use a trim. You allow the soft kisses to your cheeks and jaw and neck even though some tickle and others are somewhat uncomfortable because of the heat of her breath.

You allow them because they remind you that everything between you and her aren't always perfect. That some arguments could leave her silent, or you a couple nights at Mary Margaret's.

But this, limbs intersected, soft green on tired but loving brown, reminds you why you always come back, tail between your legs. Why you just bite your tongue at silly disagreements Regina tries to make into something bigger.

Because you'd die if you couldn't see those wide eyes on you again, or feel the softness of tanned skin, or the guttural sensuality of her voice calling your name.

Because no one has or ever will compare to the feeling of comfort you receive from Regina.

Because you love her.

Because her bad days are worth the everlasting good.

Because she's worth it.

**I hope you liked it. Let me know what you think in a review :) **


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